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absence abuse
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africa age
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anger angst
animal anniversary
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class clothes
color community
computer conflict
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cousin cowboy
crazy creation
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day death
death of a friend december
dedication deep
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discrimination divorce
dog dream
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education emo
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house how i feel
howl humanity
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hurt husband
hyperbole i love you
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inspiration inspirational
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Long Youth Poems | Long Youth Poetry

Long Youth Poems. Below are the most popular long Youth by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Youth poems by poem length and keyword.

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by Robert Candler | Details |

The Sooner Recruit

Fifty years, boy and man, I’ve been a Sooners fan;
And watched thousands of recruits try to make my Sooners Team.
Often, I’ve enviously wondered what it must be like
To be a touted Sooners recruit, living out his dream.

He’d had a great career through high school;
Made good grades, was a football star, played baseball too.
Coach said college recruiters were watching closely;
So, he tried his very best to make his dream come true.

You see, he’d played on the L’il Sooners as a kid;
Started getting serious about the game when he was only eight
Played with older, bigger boys and practiced hard;
Always told his friends, “To be a Sooner, ya gotta play great”.

Oh yes, his parents raised a football player;
And, even more important, a Sooners fan;
But he wanted more, to be a Sooner,
To feel the glory raining down from the stands. 

Now, the Sooners’ Head Coach is in his living room.
“Son, you’ve got talent.  We think you fit our scheme.
We’re offering you a scholarship, an opportunity
To be an important member of our great Sooners Team”.

His mother smiles her biggest smile.
His father nods proudly and pats him on the knee.
“Lord knows, son, it’s a dream come true.
Go be the very best Sooner you can be”.

He walks into the locker room,
Not quite sure what to expect;
But sure that to play for the Sooners
He will first have to earn respect.

He looks each man straight in the eye - 
Other recruits, trainers, assistants, and every coach.
“Be proud, but respectful”, his mother had said;
Your character, more than your performance, must be above reproach”.

His handshake is firm and he smiles.
“Only one chance for a first impression”, his father had said;
"Always put yourself in positive light, on and off the field.
That’s what it will take to play for the mighty Big Red”.

He meets so many other recruits, each one a high school star.
He’s played against a few and knows they share his dream.
And, to a man, each knows before any chance for Glory,
He first must prove worthy to play for this Sooners Team.

He knows a few will fail to meet the coaches’ expectations.
For some, the scout team will be their fate.
Many will suit up, but rarely play.
Only the very best will ever dare to be great.

Coach says, “If every man learns and executes when called on,
Then this team, we Sooners, will win a lot of games;
But, win or lose, if you play hard and give your very best,
You’ll never have to hang your heads in shame”.

“But gentlemen, with or without you, this team will win.
Every season, the Sooners strive to win it All.
So, listen, work hard, and prepare yourselves.  Each game is war...
And you must be ready when Victory calls”.

Through grueling practices, he finds himself.
As he walks to class, his closest friends are aches and pains;
But, just the other day, Coach helped him up, smiled, and patted his helmet.
“You’re doin’ fine, son.  Keep pushin’.  Remember, no pain, no gain”.

He sees his name on the "open scrimmage" roster for the very first time.
It’s a moment he’ll never forget, another milestone in his dream.
He calls his Mom and Dad, knowing they’ll tell his family and his friends.
He hopes they’ll actually see him play, proof he’s made the Team.

As he suits up for the last pre-season open scrimmage,
He wonders if the coaches would really let a freshman play at all;
But Coach puts him in for eight plays against the first team;
He makes two great open-field tackles and intercepts the ball.

He barely hears the roar of the crowd, as the whole defense “gives him five”.
He’s so excited, he forgets to ask if he can keep that ball.
Fans are buzzing, “Did you see that hit”!?  “Who is that kid”!?
“Will he red shirt or will Coach let him play this fall”? 

He sees his name in the Sunday paper, hears it on local sports.
He’s happy, but he doesn’t let it go to his head.
He keeps his focus and uses it as motivation.
After all, he wants to start one day for the mighty Big Red.

Yes, we’ll hear more of this young recruit.
Perhaps, one day he’ll be the hero of the game.
A seasoned veteran, maybe All Conference or even All American,
Who’s tasted Victory many times and helped glorify the Sooners’ name.

Oh yes, there have been so many who’ve aspired;
But many fewer who’ve actually made our Sooners Team.
They are our heroes, each and every one;
For it’s through their accomplishments, we fans can live the dream.

Billy Vessels, Steve Owens, Billy Sims, and Jason White,
The Selmons, Little Joe, the Boz, Josh Heupel, and “Q”
They, and so many others, were once touted Sooners recruits;
Who set a higher mark and built the Tradition that is OU.

So, c’mon! c’mon! all you great young football players!
Dedicate your talents to OU’s Team and OU’s Fans.
Make Oklahoma’s Owen Field your Field of Dreams,
And feel the Glory raining down from the stands. 

Copyright © Robert Candler


Long poem by Isaiah Zerbst | Details |

Highland Lassie

Inspired by the painting "Highland Lassie" (1871) by Thomas Faed.

(Verse One; In introduction to Cailin)
Walkin' on the highways, searchin' down the byways,
Tromps a lonely figure on the Highland roads;
Peerin' from the Highdown, breezin' through the lake town,
Askin' of a question erry where he goes:
(Chorus; Cailin, followed by some villagefolk)
And it's, "Marry, gather 'round! for she hasna' yet been found;
I come lookin' for the truest lass, as only one can be:
I've a letter do deliver; as you see, it says to give 'er
To the fairest Highland lassie from Loch Leven to the sea."
"Here's a lass," they proudly say, "fair as June and sweet as May,
And it's sure that she's the fairest in the Highland mountains steep:
Through the heather you may go, climb the mountains capped with snow,
But you'll never find a better lass on which your eyes to peep."

(Verse Two; Cailin's thoughts)
Some of them were pouty, others even dowdy;
"These," he thought, "would never do in fifteen years:
Beauty on the outside, nothin' on the inside,
Leaves a girl with nothin' when it fades to tears."
(Chorus; Cailin's continuing journey)
Trav'lin' all around, for she hasna' yet been found;
He's come lookin' for the truest lass, as only one can be:
With a letter do deliver; as you see, it says to give 'er
To the fairest Highland lassie from Loch Leven to the sea." 
"Here's a lass," they proudly say, "fair as June and sweet as May,"
But you canna' tell the fairest one except you see them all:
And the lassies sweetly smile, for this stranger to beguile,
As 'e treads throughout the Highlands from the winter to the fall.

(Verse Three; Cailin's travels and troubles)
From the banks of Lomon', up to Durness roamin',
How's a wight to judge betwixt a thousand score?
Steps were waxing weary, days were growing dreary,
'Till 'e saw a lass 'e hadna' met before.
(Chorus; Cailin, to a lass called Ellsie and her villagefolk)
And it's, "Marry, gather 'round, for the lassie here is found!
I 'ave searched and found the truest lass, as only one can be:
Here the letter I deliver; as you see, it says to give 'er
To the fairest Highland lassie from Loch Leven to the sea. 
"Here's a lass," I proudly say, "fair as June and sweet as May,
And it's sure that she's the fairest in the Highland mountains steep:
Through the heather you may go, climb the mountains capped with snow,
But you'll never find a better lass on which your eyes to peep."

(Verse Four; Ellsie's villagefolk reply in confusion)
Then they said, "Oh, please, Sir, don't you taunt and tease 'er,
Caint you tell she's plainer e'en than Skye down dell?
Caint you tell you've pained 'er? don't do that again, Sir,
Lest you 'ave a reason, and if so, pray tell."
(Chorus; Cailin's reply, followed by Ellsie reading the letter)
"O'er the braes an' through the moor, I 'ave trode my walkers sore,
All to find the truest lassie in the Highlands boggy peat;
And the truest lass is fair, for the true shall never wear,
So I say that here's the truest, fairest lass I've chanced to meet."
Then she opened up the scroll, and she read it to the full,
And for those who chance to wonder, I shall quote you what she read:
"When the fairest lass I find, if our wishes are aligned,
I should wish to know thee better, lass, and then, perhaps, to wed."

(Verse Five; Ellsie's reply to the letter)
Then she said, "Oh, come, Sir; don't be sad or glum, Sir;
Meet my father, mother, and my sisters small:
Soon the bells were ringin', people gladly singin'
"Here's the lad who worked to find the best of all."
(Chorus, which Ellsie's villagefolk sing at the wedding)
"O'er the braes an' through the moor, 'e 'as trode 'is walkers sore,
All to find the truest lassie in the Highlands boggy peat;
And the truest lass is fair, for the true shall never wear,
So I say that here's the truest, fairest lass I've chanced to meet. 
"Here's a lass," we proudly say, "fair as June and sweet as May,
And it's sure that she's the fairest in the Highland mountains steep:
Through the heather you may go, climb the mountains capped with snow,
But you'll never find a better lass on which your eyes to peep."



Note: the verses are written using trochaic feet, meaning that they begin with a stressed syllable, followed by an unstressed, and so on repeatedly. The fifth foot (syllables nine and ten) in the second and fourth lines of the verses is a spondee, meaning two stressed syllables in one foot. I mention this for ease in correct reading. An example of this same device is "Since the Savior Found Me" by Edgar J. Haskins, (in last line of verses and refrain).

Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst


Long poem by Darian Rehder | Details |

Love, Death, and Rebirth

The signs started in December
When she started waking up in tears each night
She was a normal girl with dark brown hair and darker brown eyes
She had plenty of friends and a loving family with just one thing missing
Her father. 

Days passed by and turned into weeks but only felt like a few seconds
Her life just whizzed by faster and faster until it was just a whirr in front of her eyes
Darkness filtered into her heart and mind until she didn't know if she could go on
But she had to. She couldn't let her mother and her sister drown in this same pain
She wouldn't let them.

She pushed all the darkness into the depths of her own heart
In hopes to save the hearts of the two people she had left
Because what else was there to live for now?
The rest of her world had crashed and her mother and sister was all that was left 
She wouldn't let them drown in pain too. 

She watched as they started to heal in her loving arms
Their hearts started to lighten up once more
But hers was just as dark as it was before 
And growing darker day by day 
But she wouldn't let that stop her. 

Suddenly a year had passed... and then two 
It only seemed like seconds to her but everyone else started moving on
Her mother and sister no longer needed her nurturing care
But she needed someone to hold on to
Anyone...

With nothing left for her to take control of, the dark pushed past her boundries 
It found a way into her soul
Until all she could see was dark and no light 
But her mother and sister were healed now
They didn't understand

The tears came back and engulfed her soul
Bit by bit until she wasn't sure why she was still alive
The grief took over like knives 
Piercing her skin over and over and over
It hurt so much.

She started to wonder what it'd look like to be dead
She could see him again if she was
Wouldn't it be so much easier than having to endure this pain?
Wouldn't it be so much easier than having to live knowing she'd never see him again?
It would.

So she started to hate herself
All that negative energy was starting to take toll
Everyone around her was breathing while she suffocated more and more by the second
She wished she'd just choke already instead of living in constant pain
If no one would put her out of her misery, she'd have to do it herself

She couldn't see any light anymore
So she grabbed the pill bottle off the shelf and just hoped it wouldn't take long to die
Deep down she still had a spark of light, but she just couldn't find it 
And now it was too late in her mind to change, to turn back and try to look deeper
She was done living.

That's when people started to notice that everything wasn't as peaceful as it seemed
They started to see how deeply depressed she had become
They wanted to help her see the light again before it was too late 
So they sent her away to see doctors and to take pills to make everything better
It was a start.

She didn't see a change at first but suddenly she could think clearly
Maybe what they were doing was actually going to help her see the light again
Yes, she still wanted to die, but maybe that wasn't the only option anymore
They cared,  and behind all their own problems they were trying to understand
They really were trying

Six months longer she would be treated and cared for
Until suddenly she was sent home from her treatment and care with a smile on her face
She had a new perspective
Someone had helped her ignite that spark in her heart until it was a glowing ember
She had been reborn

Sometimes you have to be able to experience the worst of it
To come back shining brighter than before
And if she had died that cold day in October, she wouldn't of ever seen the best of it
Or known that it would get better
and it did!

And she now sits at her laptop, with a smile on her face and warmth in her heart
It's never been an easy road and it won't ever be
But at least she knows she's lived through the worst
And it can only get better from here

So whenever she feels lonely or gets back into that dark spot again
She can look back on what she's learned and can read this poem
And remember that she survived the darkest depths of depression
And she will continue to survive it as long as she lives
Because she is stronger now than she ever was before ?

Copyright © Darian Rehder


Long poem by Langeni Mate | Details |

Unspoken Words VIII - Credit Love

I don't want to start with those cliché things but please believe me when I say I don't know what love is, I'm just trying to get my own opinion through. Credit Love. Funny enough I think love is like a business, you sell your heart to your partner whilst he or she pays you back in instalments. It could take 3 months or 3 years. They say all businesses have a Debtors Collection Schedule so consider your partner as one. He or she pays you a bit of love back every month and when it's finally over there's a piece of you that's gone. Call it Bad Debts shall we?

So you gave him 100 and he only returned 98. So now what happens? I always say if it's not 100 percent then there's room for improvement but what's there to improve? The way you love, show affection or the way you had an effect on him cause clearly you were nothing. Yes you were nothing cause there's no thing that you need to make yourself whole. 98 percent I said right? Okay let's take a kid from 98. Her heart gets broken and it's filled with a Soul Tie so she dates a 92 to feel 100 again. The love she now has is artificial. Listen closely now it's artificial. Yes it ain't official because she stopped thinking with her mind. What ever happened to the Mind, Heart and Body? If you don't mind what your heart looks like it'll affect your body. If you don't mind what you're body looks like it'll affect your heart.

So you should watch what you do. Think before you do but don't do your past thoughts because everything transforms if left for too long. You just have to Notice. Notice how life is better with No Ties and yes Ice Tea is Not Ice. Notice, No Ties, Not Ice. Matter of fact I don't understand why you enjoy these network dating sites. You think you speaking to someone of age. Nice fresh 24 year old. Thick, curves for weeks. But then when you finally meet her she forgot to tell you that her numbers got swopped around and she has a kid your age. It's harder for the girls. They ask for pictures and believe what they see. But they don't know that there's this new thing called Identity Theft. Yes it's called Identity Theft. I don't think you're listening closely because this is broken English, I Dent It, He Theft. It's a big tournament and the winner gets to be called Mr. Populator. Kids at 14 just want to Pop You Later? What is our world becoming?

So this Identify Theft has stolen the meaning of the word love. Girl loses her virginity and the guy picks up the scraps. Guys call it Credit Love but how can you begin to repay something that is not even refundable? This game has become a drug guys so let me be your conscience. Girls are becoming immune to your games because they absorb things that happen over and over and over again. So next time you take that girl's virginity you should tell yourself that you could get killed. Why? Ask the same guy who took that girl's virginity but still has Aids. Maybe you want to look at it as an investment. R500 bucks a month on compound interest. The same works girls. Heart gets broken every month to 2 years so when it finally matures those 24 hearts have now become 30 and you can't handle it. You thought it was impossible. Personally I think impossible should be removed from the dictionary. See English is a funny language, they forgot to put the apostrophe in impossible to tell you that it actually means that I. Am. Possible. 

People today are not able to pass the bible. Instead they get tattoos and like to call it Tribal. Spending thousands and thousands of rands decorating something that won't leave you so Credit Love, who are you going to sell your heart to? If that person across the street tells you that he or she likes you tell them that all the money in the world, regardless of the currency, can be taken and given to you but it won't even be a deposit. Why? Because you are priceless. See God made you out of materialistic things. Why? To show you that He's already given you enough so why should you be searching for more? I ask you once more, Credit Love, who are you going to sell your heart to? 


Wonderful people of PoetrySoup!!! Find more of my poems on my Facebook page Poetically Abstract. Thanks for your support!!

Copyright © Langeni Mate


Long poem by J. W. M. Earnings | Details |

Handsome Hurts

Mysteries unveil
Thank the God Most High I have a roof on my head
Eyes that shine and lost in paradise
1997-2015 – the years of a million diamonds
Midnight fears and dreams haunt me and taunt me 
I dance in a miraculous moment of mesmerizing wars
Peace distills my soul…my soul…
Midnight love has made my heart beg for your forgiveness
A few minutes left…until you leave my side

Shadows…reflections…
When will you see my reflections? Those countless rejections?
He told me to shut up and now what?
What am I supposed to do with this ever-so-evil heart of mine?
Shying away from the light of delight
Handsome hurts…handsome hurts…
Shadows…reflections…
When will you see my reflections? Those countless rejections?
He told me to shut up and now what?
What am I supposed to do with this ever-so-evil heart of mine?
Shying away from the light of delight
Handsome hurts…handsome hurts…


1997-2015 – the years of a million diamonds
Midnight fears and dreams haunt me and taunt me 
You and I fire me up with the words Belong and Alone
I dance in a miraculous moment of mesmerizing wars
Peace distills my soul…my soul…
Assuming no one cares…everyone chooses to stare…
Maybe I can feel you in my skin…in my skin…
My picturesque kin hang out with me…where had you gone and when shall we begin?
Midnight love has made my heart beg for your forgiveness
A few minutes left…until you leave my side

Shadows…reflections…
When will you see my reflections? Those countless rejections?
He told me to shut up and now what?
What am I supposed to do with this ever-so-evil heart of mine?
Shying away from the light of delight
Handsome hurts…handsome hurts…
Shadows…reflections…
When will you see my reflections? Those countless rejections?
He told me to shut up and now what?
What am I supposed to do with this ever-so-evil heart of mine?
Shying away from the light of delight
Handsome hurts…handsome hurts…


1997-2015 – the years of a million diamonds
Midnight fears and dreams haunt me and taunt me 
Bleeding…you son of a bastard…feeding on you like a vulture, the ugly bird
I’m stubborn with my flowers…and wasted hours…independence rips me open
Peace distills my soul…my soul…
Assuming no one cares…everyone chooses to stare…
Chaos crafts me creativity in mind…in mind…
Subside from my side!!!!! Subside from my side!!!!!! Subside from myyyyy side!!!!!
Midnight love has made my heart beg for your forgiveness
A few minutes left…until you leave my side

Shadows…reflections…
When will you see my reflections? Those countless rejections?
He told me to shut up and now what?
What am I supposed to do with this ever-so-evil heart of mine?
Shying away from the light of delight
Handsome hurts…handsome hurts…
Shadows…reflections…
When will you see my reflections? Those countless rejections?
He told me to shut up and now what?
What am I supposed to do with this ever-so-evil heart of mine?
Shying away from the light of delight
Handsome hurts…handsome hurts…

Burst me open like a bubble if you dare…
Pay me with cranium numbness…
It’s my skill to kill…to kill…
The pill is swallowing me…
The pill is swallowing me!!!!
THE PILL IS SWALLOWING MEEEEEEE!!!!!!! RAHHHH!
AHHHHH! 
AHHHHHHHHH!

Shadows…reflections…
When will you see my reflections? Those countless rejections?
He told me to shut up and now what?
What am I supposed to do with this ever-so-evil heart of mine?
Shying away from the light of delight
Handsome hurts…handsome hurts…
Shying away from the light of delight
What am I supposed to do with this ever-so-evil heart of mine?
He told me to shut up and now what?
When will you see my reflections? Those countless rejections?
Shadows…reflections…

SHADOWS!!!! REFLECTIONS!!!
SHADOWS!!!! REFLECTIONS!!!!
Look at me…Hello? Can you see me? See me?
Hanging out with the gang…
LOOOK AT ME… Hello? Can’t you see me? See me?
Just doin’ my thang…thang…

Copyright © J. W. M. Earnings


Long poem by Robert Candler | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/went_fishin_547715' st_title='Went Fishin''>

Went Fishin'


Submitted to the "Gone Fishin" contest
------------------------------------------------

Trollin’ the islands at Texoma,
It was April, 1964.
New rod and reel in hand,
I’d NEVER been fishing before.

A Garcia 2510T casting rod.
The reel, a Mitchell 301,
Plus hand-selected worms and lures…
I was ready to have some fun.

My teacher, a master fisherman,
Had fished all over the earth...
From trout in Austrian mountain streams
To sea bass just west of Perth.

He showed me all the basics,
Including how to tie a lure.
“No snaps. They’re no good.
Tie’em on…just to be sure.”

He made me practice casting.
“Take aim with your rod’s tip 
Take her back - ten, eleven, twelve, one;
Smoothly return to ten… with just a little flip.”

While I practiced the casting motion,
He said, “Large Mouths will be jumpin’ bugs.
Water’s bubblin’ with Sand Bass spawnin’.
You’ll know the difference if one gives you a tug.”

As we drifted around the islands,
He said, “I think you’re ready.”
So, I picked a lure, a pretty Heddon;
And tied her on.  My hands were steady.

Yellow with black dots and a weed guard. 
A streamer tail and double treble hooks.
Who knew if she would do the job,
But I liked the way she looked.

As I tied her on, I looked around
For a likely place for my first cast.
Magazine pictures always showed weeds
In the background of a striking Bass.

So, I picked a reed bed in the shallows;
Threw my first cast, watched her fly.
What happened next was the stuff of dreams.
We couldn’t believe our eyes. 

About eighteen inches before she lit,
A monstrous Large Mouth erupted from the water.
My teacher screamed, “Holy Mary, Mother of God!  
Kiss O’Reilly’s Ugly Daughter!”

When the Bass broke water, it scared me. 
My whole body jerked and shook.
So sudden, so silent, it seemed like slow motion.
Until I heard him screaming, “Set the hook!  Set the hook!”

When the big Bass scared me,
I must have set the hook.
The tussle was on, long and hard.
This fish didn’t want to be cooked.

My lack of skills prevailed, however,
As I finally reeled him in;
I grabbed him by the lower lip,
Like I’d seen Don Wallace do, time and time again.

“Oh, my God”, he murmured as he weighed the Bass;
“Jeez.  Over thirteen pounds....Thirteen pounds, two.”
He took out his Polaroid and laughed, 
“I’ll take a picture of this fish... holdin' you.”

He snapped the picture of me holding the Bass;
On the back wrote the date, the length and weight.
As he turned to put the camera away……
Get ready.  This is the part that’s great.

I’d watched Don Wallace ‘catch and release’.
He always did that on his show.
“This fish put up a good fight.” he’d say;
“Now it’s time to let him go.”

Yes, as my teacher put away the camera,
I held the big Bass by the lower lip and tail
And ‘swished’ him in the water,
Making sure his gills would not fail.

My teacher turned and saw what I was doing
Just as I let the big Bass go.
This, too, was like slow motion
As I heard him screaming, “NOOOOOOO!”

“Why would you do that, Lad?
Do ya know nothin’ at all?
A fish like that... on your very first cast?
Well...Lad, that fish goes on the wall.”

“Well…he’ll be here next year.” I said with a smile,
“And even bigger, I’ll bet.”
He said, ”You’ll make a fisherman, Lad.
It’s not for the fish that we fish…

but for the great stories we get.” 

I still have that lure…and the rod and reel.
Still in their bags and boxes, just like new.
I thought about selling them on eBay,
But 50 years later, they have sentimental value.

You see…I’ve been invited to go fishin’ several times
By golfin’ buddies and other friends;
But for some reason…I really don’t know why…
I’ve never gone fishin’ again.

They say, “Truth is stranger than fiction.”
And I believe that is a fact.
I hope you enjoyed this bit of truth and,
In the meantime…..”Ya’ll come back!”

Copyright © Robert Candler


Long poem by Keith Trestrail | Details |

Ballad of Trinidad

 Remember when days were long
   And all de children do is play:
 Or how de burnin sun hot like fire
   And snow cone ice melt away,
 When I was a wee lad in Trinidad

 And licks fuh so in de bam bam
   If I do or say I right when I wrong!
 Playin cricket in de front yard
   In ragged shirt and watchicong,
 Wit my bat and pad in Trinidad

 Hear de dogs of Independence,
  "Masser's day has come" dey bark,
 And snarl "now we in charge!"
   But all dey do is fete and skylark,
 Dats why tings bad in Trinidad

 Den me faddah "really speakin"...
   And me muddah, how she grieve:
"Aye yah yie, it time to vamoose...
   Oh crime...it time to leave",
 Dat all hell gone mad in Trinidad

 I say to she "yuh makin joke!
   Mummy, what is dis tomfoolery?"
 Man, next ting I know I on a boat
   Past de Bocas headin out to sea,
 And I was sad to leave Trinidad

 Dey get vex and riot in de street,
   Trow stick, pelt stone, and cuss:
 Shout "Black Power...Malcolm X..."
   PNM say "why all yuh makin fuss?"
 But tings get real bad in Trinidad

 Trinis start to swell up dey face
   And ax demself "is all yuh fuh real?"
 Criminals was skinnin dey teet
   Burnin and lootin lookin to steal -
 Destroyin what we had in Trinidad

 But I would from my exile return
   De land of rapso, kaiso, and calypso!
 Where de panman play, "padna"
   And de Cahneeval jumpin fuh so,
 Den I was glad to see Trinidad

 Back to limin on sandy beach
   Wit buss-up and shark 'n bake...
 Drinkin rum, Carib, and Stag spyin
   All de girls backside shake!
 Girls sweet too bad in Trinidad

 If yuh see party fuh so in East
   Or fete in de village dong Sout:
 And Jouvay dawn at Pelican Inn
   Till Road March jump and shout,
 Dis is de lime I had in Trinidad

 Me faddah, he like de ole talk,
   De ghost of Jumbie Bridge in he head:
"Murder!" He laugh at all dem Trins
   And how dey all "fraid de dead!"
 In Big Bertha clad from Trinidad

 He tink of tings back home like
   When de plum and de mango ripe:
"Jeez-an-wrinkles!" He bol face say
   How "Crapo smoke yuh pipe!"
 God bless my dad from Trinidad

 He steups so and he say "boy,
   Trinidad full of ba'john and ole tief!
 Riddled wit crime and corruption...
   Warahouns in charge, good grief!
 And for all dis I sad for Trinidad

 Me muddah too, she say to me
  "Hold strain and calm yuhself chile!"
 She say "son, doh be a saga boy,
   Doh flash and doh make style"
 Lest you be a cad from Trinidad

 Man, de whole place gone to hell
   And dey doh know how to fix she:
 All de younger generation fuhget 
   What it mean to be a Trini -
 To be proud and glad in Trinidad

 Now dey pull out cutlass and gun
   If on dey tail yuh lash out and cuff!
 Man, dese days no-one safe at all,
   Trins fed-up and had enough!
 How tings get so mad in Trinidad

 All yuh in T 'n T so blasted vex
   At de government and Manning:
 But in trute yuh still like to fete
   And drink and lime and ting!
 Den bawl bobbol bad in Trinidad

 It jus like back in de Canboulay
   When de lawless slaves run wild,
 Or in de dark days of rebellion
   And uprisin when I was a child,
 When tings went rad in Trinidad

 A pelau or buljol in yuh mout -
   Sorrel, a mauby, me ginger beers:
 Gimme pastelle and ponchecrema 
   From Christmas to Ole Years!
 Dis is de taste I had of Trinidad

 De Spanish come, de French too -
   Boy, de British dey bring a queen:
 Dat was way back when dis island
   Was de jewel of de Caribbean,
 Before I was a wee lad in Trinidad


                ------------


January 2009



              
 
             

Copyright © Keith Trestrail


Long poem by Annalise a.k.a. Audrey Haick | Details |

Girl Rising

Based on a true story from a television documentary on Human Trafficking...an international crime with participants from a broad spectrum of society...occuring on a daily basis. I have only seen documentaries on the trafficking of young girls between the ages of 5 and above!! Law enforcers, it seems are fighting a losing battle against the men and women who sell and enslave young girls and I have no doubt, young boys as well.

Somewhere this day on planet earth
A Mother-to-be, while in labor, cries
Not so much for the mounting pain
Nor the fear of possible death
So many fears for the future…
“What lies ahead in the coming years?
What “fate” will meet my child?”
And added to all her heightened fears is…
Will she be there to protect her child?

Those dark years have now passed into decades
When Tanya walked the shadowy streets of the city at late night 
While kids her age slept peacefully in their beds
They made her dress up so she’d looked twenty one
Days were spent locked in a room, under watchful eyes
She was fed cheap fast food to her young heart’s content
Soon she'd lose all hope of liberation
This was the second man she had been sold to
And after a while she’d adapt to the situation 

Still fresh in her mind was that last day at school
In her backpack was her favorite teddy bear
Her Mother had chosen to believe her step-father again
Now that her twelfth birthday would be in a month 
As no one cared, she decided to run away
While at the bus station she met this “nice” couple
Who listened to every word she spoke
They promised her a ride to any place she wished
And she’d always wanted to see Disney land

“Maybe, she thought, it’d be a birthday treat”
 However, that would be another promise broken 
Weeks dragged on and they bought her “stuff” 
Although treated well, sometimes she still felt alone
Then one day came the grown up clothes and make up
That night her innocence was stolen once more
Later she’d try to make an escape
Only to be caught and tied to the bed post
‘Make it easy on yourself and accept your “fate”, she was told

That was years ago, although it seems like yesterday,
When arrested by a new officer on the vice squad
Who saw the flaw in the picture before him
The pimp gave no reasonable answer to the simple question
‘Why are you parked late at night on the street corner with a minor?’
 
Looking back over the years, she came to conclude that “Fate” is just another word, made up to cast aside blame; when we do not want to see the path we’ve chosen which has led us to our present state
When Pilate symbolically washed his hands, though he had power in that moment to act..
When there before him stood truth and innocence, 
Yet, he chose to make a comfortable bed for his conscience

Today, Tanya is a college graduate and a Mother who has vowed not to leave anything to “fate”. She’d teach her children to take responsibility for the choices they make… 
She would teach them that no one is of lesser value than another..
 Male or female; black or white, all hues; rich or poor 
All have a God given right to live free!
~*~
8/03/13
For:  Richard's "Girl Rising" Contest

(3rd Place Win)

Copyright © Annalise a.k.a. Audrey Haick


Long poem by LATARSHA GRANDBERRY | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/a_womans_worth_522236' st_title='A Woman's Worth'>

A Woman's Worth

A Woman’s Worth
When she walks in the room
she wants people to stop and stare
not because they’re whispering…
what she got on girl, what’s up with that hair?
But because she looks good, conservative and chic
looking her best from head to feet
she knows the spiked heels and look at me blouse
will make all the men become aroused
she knows that look would make conditions tense
but how she’s dressed builds confidence
she doesn’t do loud make-up, green hair or tight skirts,
if you don’t know, how will anyone else know your worth?
Not trying to be  Nicki Manage,
never putting on a fascad
being original, still blending in
all because she’s good  in her own skin
She looks pretty
and carries herself well,
clothes should hide
what only time should tell
When a man calls us out of our name
boy, do we get offended
Aretha told us the Rule of R-e-s-p-e-c-t
It’s usually us that bend it
Wearing anything to work, 
any and everything to church
talking that ghetto talk
walking that ghetto walk
telling your friends, girl, he don’t respect me
your friends telling you that you save nothing to see
Asking him out first
Not knowing your worth
You didn’t give him a chance
giving all of yourself on a one night stand
sitting there wondering why he didn’t call
now you’re starting to feel about 2 feet tall
think back, yall never took the time to ask for number and name
now you’re feeling so ashamed
It wasn’t your smile or your smarts that got you here
that drink, you didn’t think
Oh, is that a tear?
Men respect us based on how we think of ourselves
they measure us on what our body tells
what is your body telling?
that you have something you’re selling?
there’s so much you can tell with your body
you don’t have to be revealing to be a hottie
besides, I have daughters and they’re watching me
I try to always give them something beautiful to see
what are we teaching our little girls?
that our bodies will further in this world?
the answer to that question is no 
the BIBLE says train a child in the way they should go
what we need to understand as women we deserve respect
but sometimes what we give is what we usually get
when most men see a woman in low -cut shirts, short skirts and high heels
to him you’re worth about as much as a happy meal
if I’m a meal, I’m Crème Brouleé , Beluga Caviar, Laute Truffle Chocolate, with 1945 Chauteau Vintage wine,
That’s who I am all the time
Be who you are, 
can’t be me, I’m taken
If you think you can live as someone else
you’re sadly mistaken
I’m a woman every week,
365 days a year
I don’t clock out
I wanna make that clear
Ok, sometimes I can joke and be crazy, 
but I never forget that I’m a lady
so girls, get it right,
you can stay on your grind
FOR A REAL WOMAN IS A WOMAN FOR REAL AT ALL TIMES


Copyright © LATARSHA GRANDBERRY


Long poem by James Clark | Details |

The Babaji Wheelbarrow

It was a dry, dusty day when I saw the wheelbarrow, with long handles made of dark wood. 
The wheel is struggling as it carries its burden, but it manages the job that it should. The man pushing appears to be crying, his eyes all puffy and red. It’s time to move on, but I wait,  I wait for him to reach me instead. The wheelbarrow has a dark green cover, such a sickly, metallic sweet smell underneath,  such a heavy lump in my throat,  “don’t lift the cover!” but regardless, I pull back it back to see.
The first thing to strike me, such a tiny hand, tiny fingers all bent into a fist, and an inch below there in my big gloved hand, the smallest most delicate wrist. Her face is held together by bright orange thread, her eyes are searching the stars. Her crown should still be there, on that beautiful head, where she lays, crumpled up inside her Dads cart. I put back the cover, swallow hard and just stand there, my head, Jesus Christ I can’t think,  my pounding heart tearing itself apart inside my trained body, at this beautiful little angel in pink. 
Her father, his eyes screaming toward me sobs gently, silent rage and yet deafening shock. Why can’t I bring myself to look into this man’s eyes, oh Lord, grant me some breath that I may talk. To say sorry, to ask why, to just speak in his tongue, to show him that I really care. I realise that I could never find words, I’ve no such tragedy to compare.
I walked away from the blue wheelbarrow, thinking that I could leave it behind. But every night as my daughter hugged me, that wheelbarrow crashed into my mind. Whenever she cried my stomach went tight, when she laughed those dark clouds disappeared, whenever she told me she loved me, I knew that I had nothing to fear, but yet so much. The wheelbarrow changed me forever, drank me to illness, and brought my whole life to the edge. I couldn’t switch off from that sweet smell, and I couldn’t explain that to friends. 
 I will never forget, such a small wrist in my hand, such beautiful soft lips kissing the sky. Such a pretty pink little dress, though stained red with blood, those clear and lifeless brown eyes. I wish that I had asked for her name, what to call that three year old victim of war, so small and so beautiful with those innocent eyes, my body aches that I can’t wish so any more.
If I could explain to people, about my demons, in one image to make them understand. I’d draw that blue wheelbarrow with the green cover on top, and that sweet delicate wrist in my hand. Two days after the wheelbarrow I became a Father and to my comfort, for the rest of my life I will know. No matter how often the wheelbarrow returns, I have my daughter, here for me to hold.

Copyright © James Clark


Long Poems